USUK Fourth of July
by holliegirl
Summary: Arthur Kirkland wants nothing more than to completely forget July fourth. The date holds so many bad memories for him. But when that date is also the birthday of a certain egotistical boy, ignoring what happened isn't likely.
1. Good Morning America

The alarm clock buzzed loudly and forced him awake. Groggily, he straightened, reaching out one arm before banging his wrist angrily in an attempt to hit the snooze button, but not soon enough; the beeping had switched to the morning news report:

"_Good morning, everyone!" _A woman's painfully cheerful voice exclaimed, _"Happy Fourth of July!"_

He yanked the clock's cord out of the wall, and the voice fell silent. Irritated, he squeezed his green eyes shut, and pulled the pillow up over his head as if to block out the rest of the world. The fourth…He had been dreading that date for months, and now it was finally here. He threw the pillow against the wall with a grunt, accidently knocking a few things down the ground with a clatter. Letting out an angry sigh, Arthur Kirkland stood stiffly and began to get dressed.

Outside his window it was raining for the hundredth time that week, and he was getting tired of the constant dampness that seemed to seep into the house. Or maybe the constant sense of foreboding he's been feeling lately. Either way, the rain was annoying.

He checked himself in the mirror, eyes glancing meticulously over his straight, short blonde hair, perfectly pressed white dress-shirt, black slacks, and shining shoes. He tightened his dark green tie once more, before deciding that everything was perfect. Turning on his heel sharply, he strode over the calendar that hung by his bed. The date was circled in red, and a hand that wasn't his had written in the corner: _The hero's birthday!_

Arthur rubbed the date as if he could erase it. The anniversary of _that day_ was hardly one to be celebrated, even if that egotistical, self-centered brat thought so. Sighing, Arthur stooped down to retrieve his pillow and the things it had knocked over. His fingers wrapped around a picture frame, and without thinking, he pulled it up and looked at it.

It was of him, but when he was younger, with his arms wrapped around a small boy with bright blonde hair and blue eyes. The two of them were smiling to the camera, and the little boy in front had his hand on Arthur's, their fingers locked together.

Arthur closes his eyes and willed the image to go away. He set the picture on his dresser, but placed it face down. He did not glance at it as he retrieved his coat; his eyes stayed fixedly forward. Then he left his room, crossing the living and the dining room, before walking out the front door and slamming it behind him.


	2. Raining

Arthur trudged down the street, rainwater already soaking through his thick jacket. He cursed himself for stupidly forgetting his umbrella and leaving it behind. He was starting to shiver, locks of his blonde hair turned brown in the water and clinging to his neck. _I was raining on _that day _too_, he thought, then shook his head sharply, stopping at the crosswalk as a truck thundered by, its wheels slashing up a spray of muddy water that soaked him completely. Angrily he flipped the driver off, rubbing dirty water out of his eyes.

"Bloody drivers," he muttered, crossing the street, "can't ruddy _drive_, had to get mud all over me, the git…"

There was no one else on the street with him, just a few people rushing past him with upturned collars and umbrellas bent back in the wind. It suddenly occurred to Arthur that there was going to be a major storm that he was smack in the middle of, with no protection. He turned to try to find his way back home before a large gust of wind struck him and knocked him backwards. He stood there stubbornly, waiting for the wind to pass, when he heard someone call his name.

"Arthur?"

He turned slowly. Standing in the doorway of the house was a tall boy with blond hair and bright blue eyes. Arthur sucked in a sharp breath before glancing quickly back down at the ground, pretending that he hadn't seen the boy.

"Is that you, Arthur?" the boy called again, and Arthur stood still, unable to walk, eyes squeezed shut.

He suddenly felt the rain stop hitting him on the head, although he could still hear it going on all around him. He opened his eyes to find the boy, leaning over him with an umbrella.

"Arthur, you're soaked," he said.

Arthur snorted, "Well aren't you bloody Sherlock, Alfred." he pushed passed the boy and tried to walk back towards his house, but a grip on his arm stopped him.

"You're going to get leukemia or something, if you stay out any longer," Alfred complained, leaning the umbrella forward so that it still covered Arthur, "come inside and get some dry clothes on."

"It's hypothermia you idiot," he snapped, trying to wrench his arm away, "and I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Alfred forcibly spun him around, so that green eyes met blue, nose to nose. Alfred's breath smelled like warm French fries, and Arthur's cheeks grew red from their closeness.

"What are you going to do, bloody kidnap me?" he stammered, glancing away.

A wide, devilish grin spread across Alfred's face, "If you insist." He said, and promptly picked Arthur up and slung him over his shoulder, still holding the umbrella over both of them.

"Git! Put me down!" Arthur rapped his fists angrily against the boy's back, but they were already inside the house.

* * *

><p>So' I'm not at all sure where I'm going with this haha. If anyone has any suggestions, let me know, kay? :)<p> 


	3. Clothing

"Here," Alfred tossed something at Arthur, which he caught and inspected carefully, "You're soaked, and you need a change of clothes."

"I can't wear this, git!" Arthur held the large jeans and old T-shirt that was embellished with an American flag pattern, "It's atrocious!"

"But you're wet," Alfred complained, taking a towel from the shelf in the bathroom and starting to dry off his own blonde hair.

They stood in Alfred's large living room, completely undecorated, save the mass amount of garbage that lay around, covering every available surface of the tables and counters. A fire was burning in the fireplace, and Arthur could feel its warmth even as far away as he stood.

Or maybe it wasn't the fire that made him feel hot.

Alfred's usual cowlick was currently absent with his wet hair, and the droplets on his face and neck sparkled under the firelight. His bright blue eyes seemed to pierce Arthur, and he felt his cheeks go red.

"I still can't wear this," he muttered, shuffling his feet uncomfortably.

"Yes you can, you have to change or you'll catch a cold," Alfred dropped the towel and crossed the room the Arthur's side and grabbed the fabric of Arthur's collar between his fingers. Arthur bit his lip nervously and looked away.

And then Alfred started to unbutton Arthur's shirt.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING?" He tried to back away but fell onto the couch, hands tightly around Alfred's wrists.

"Taking your shirt off," he managed to get the top two buttons undone, cold fingers brushing lightly over Arthur's neck.

"I BLOODY GOT THAT MUCH WHAT I WANT TO KNOW IS WHY!" Arthur tried in vain to push him away, cheeks completely flushed, avoiding Alfred's gaze.

Alfred completely unbuttoned the shirt and pulled it off, dropping it to the floor, "It's wet and you need to get changed."

"I- I CAN DO THAT MYSELF GIT!" He quickly pulled his clean shirt on, still struggling against Alfred's grasp.

Suddenly he felt Alfred's hand on the zipper of his pants.

"ALRIGHT THAT'S IT GET THE BLOODY F OFF OF ME!" He managed to shove Alfred off of him, running into the nearest room and slamming the door behind him.

"You pants are wet too, you know," Alfred's voice was muffled through the door.

Arthur didn't reply; his breath was too ragged even if he wanted to respond, "bloody…idiot…" he huffed.

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><p>Oh gosh, I love ignorant America ^_^<p>

Poor Alfred doesn't understand the kind of effect he has on people.


End file.
